A Call for Help: Save Our Society

I know it’s been a while since we’ve posted, but luckily for you, I had an experience today that flared up the ol’ anger hemorrhoid like George Brett after a 5th of scotch and a bad BM.  What was this travesty I encountered, you ask?  What could have rattled me so bad to throw me back to my proverbial punching bag of a blog?  What was this experience that hit me harder than Chris Brown’s right hook at Rihanna?

The answer my friends, is that in the office today, within 5 minutes of each other, spoken by two separate professional businessmen, the phrases “irregardless” and “git ‘r done” were uttered in my general vicinity.

Now I’m a rational man (don’t read my other posts), and was able to let  “irregardless” slip.  Technically, it is a word, despite its obvious redundancy, and it does cue me to dumb down my vocabulary when speaking to the elocutionist.  Instead of “We need to develop a mitigation plan to ensure these inconsistencies don’t occur in the future,” I now know to say to this person “You gotta fix this shit.”

However, when this socially digressive word was paired with the bane of all maxims, “Get ‘r done,” my body just shut down from the worst form of overload imaginable.  You may ask, “Well did you say something, or correct them?”  The answer is no; simply and surely because my body slipped into a coma as its only defense.

The threat.

 

“Git ‘r done” is the worst phrase developed by mankind, and I use that word loosely.  It is the proclamation of the inept, the declaration of the idiot, the summation of a life devoted to nothing but incompetency.  It is deficient in its existence, and even less acceptable in its assertion.  It is an immediate disqualification upon a life of knowledge and self-betterment; a phrase that insists upon itself, claiming victim after ignorant victim.  The reason that this saying exists is the very reason that I despise it.  It is a disease.  It must be eradicated.

Please, I beg of you, save our society.  Refuse to acknowledge the sanctity of “Git ‘r done.”  Revolt against its stranglehold on our vocabulary.  Defend your intelligence, fortify your mind, preserve all that has not been tainted.  Those of you who fight in this struggle, know that you are not alone.

Punctuate This

Raging disappointments come in many forms; your delicious guacamole goes bad too soon, you misplace your favorite Alf season set, or even worse- you receive a failtacular first textual impression.

Personally, I look forward to meeting men when I go out, and get especially excited when I swap numbers with a new smokin’ hot guy. However, the number is immediately deleted out of my phone when I realize he was a disguised tool, exhibited exclusively by his excessive use of punctuation and emoticons through his first “what’s up” text message.

Now, let me preface this posting with one clarification. Exorbitant use of punctuation and smiley faces MAY (and I emphasize MAY) enhance a certain male counterpart’s witty humor and charm. However, this is the exception, NOT the damned rule. It’s important to realize that if you’re a man, you should never assume that you are that type of guy. Not only does that make you a presumptuous asshole and appear as an arrogant bastard, but the fact that you’d send a text message resembling that of a infatuated 6th grade pre-pubescent girl makes me want to reach through the phone and punch you in the throat.

Men beware, the initial text you send to a girl sets the tone of the entire a relationship- if it even gets that far. If you sent something along the lines of “hey! it wuz great to meet u the other nite, wen can i see u again :)”….Um, wake up call faggot- you’re a total doucher and don’t even deserve the ever familiar, unassuming ‘who is this?’ text back. Take a hint, and now piece together why Sandy in the fuckmedress never texted you back.

Please for the sake of horny women everywhere, act like a man’s man through text messages. I don’t want to feel like I’m texting my teenage brother’s friends anymore, thanks.

People at Meetings

You’ve been there….. sitting in a stifling conference room, the smell of slightly burnt coffee in the air, waiting for an an hour long meeting to begin of which you will only be contributing 45 seconds to. This corporate inevitability my friends shares company with the likes of Abu Ghraid, Guantanamo Bay, and Auschwitz. As if this office gas chamber wasn’t bad enough already you have the pleasure of contending with these people:

The Douche: Yea I get it, you have an opinion, but that BA you received in International Politics w/ a minor in Economics doesn’t qualify you to comment on every action item in the agenda. Take a lesson from your freshman seminar on Islamic politics and strap a bomb to your chest, then quietly detonate it in the parking lot (away from my car thank you very much).

The Cunt: Did you feel that? The sudden shift in gravity as the chick from accounting starts speaking and the universe slowly begins to revolve around her.  I’m not sure if its the condescending tone or the stale smell of Elizabeth Taylor White Diamonds that makes me want to pick up the star fish shaped conference phone and dent her wind pipe.

Inner Monologue

Inner Monologue

Clueless: “Excuse me, can we go back two slides?  I think I missed something.” How bout I place a spiky river parasite in your urethra? That would probably match the irritation coursing through my veins from the additional 3 minutes of my life you’ve taken.

Old: These people have their place, but sitting in a meeting getting all nostalgic about how things were done 20 years ago isn’t one of them.  Loosen your depends old man because I’m about to drop a knowledge bomb that’ll make you shit your pants. Your younger co workers can see this trip down memory lane 3 slides away and pull up Twitter, perched for those few words which will allow them to own you in a 140 characters or less.

Muffin Tops

Let’s face it, you either a) Used to have it and lost it, or b) Never had it to start with.  Regardless, you don’t have it now, and you’re grossing out America one buttery treat at a time.  Your years of pounding Coors originals and spreading your legs for the volunteer border guard patrol has rendered you used more than an Sudanese child’s flyswatter.

Your life has been reduced to wearing “these-used-to-fit-me-3-kids-and-6-slices-of-pizza-ago” camo pants with a vagomach ([vuh-juhm-uhk] A vagina stomach. See: FUPA but grosser) exploding  out of them like a cloud of ash from Mount Vesuvius.; and quite frankly, the residents of Pompeii were lucky.  Their explosion killed the whole population while we still have to live and look at you.

Muffin Top

Muffin Tops

No one cares about your struggles in life and how you used to be attractive but you can’t maintain yourself anymore or that you have a glandular problem that causes you to swell up like a blowfish with AIDS…  All that we care about is that you cover yourself up and then we’ll talk about what we can do.  Until then, your silhouette will remind me of a rubber band around the Goodyear blimp.

What was once a “Bret Michaels dream come true” has degraded as poorly as the styrafoam coolers in the alley where you gave your first rim job.  Congratulations, your mid body now resembles the spare tire on your 1984 El Camino.

Texas Critters

I just went for a run and almost got rabies from a possum that jumped in my path.  The rest of the run it made me think that everything that cast a shadow was waiting for me….

Opossum with rabies

Opossum with rabies

Not Fucking Cool.

Obnoxious Office Eaters

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

This sound pierces into my brain every damned day. Typically quiet office environment, check. Offensively loud, crunchy snack food, check. Obnoxious, usually overweight co-worker, check. Lack of polite office etiquette? Check, Check, and CHECK.

Why would anyone, in any type of quiet setting, chose to eat sourdough pretzels or raw carrot sticks? Or if they are really feeling evil and inevitably put me in my own personal hell, the chosen snack of choice: kettle cooked chips.

Lethal

Lethal

Why would anyone think that this is okay? Is their internal perception of their own personal sound so poor that they don’t realize how ridiculously loud they eat? Even worse, these morons don’t even realize they chew like a cow on the loudest possible snacks that the local vending machine has to offer.

This complete lack of social awareness in a closed, quiet environment makes me wonder how these animals even operate in normal society outside of the office. These individuals need to learn to be discrete with their chewing, take a trip down to the cafeteria, or at the very least, have a near choke attack so they never bring that type of snack again.

TV Commercials

I have officially decided on my personal opinion of why I hate this recession.  And no, its not because the economy is bad, or because stores are closing, or people are out of jobs, etc.  It is because TV air time is so cheap now allowing the infomercial type ads to air incessantly during prime time hours.

The goddamn ShamWow guy has given me a complex from his screaming, I’m considering buying Lipozene because of the fat stored under my muscles, I have self-diagnosed myself with Mesothelioma, and when I see a blanket with sleeves at a store, I know that it is NOT a Snuggy, because Snuggies are made in Germany and only sold online!

And God help me if I see another commercial from the Law Offices of Binder and Binder.  I swear I am going to give them a reason to sue me.

By the way, how ridiculous is the hat that Charles Binder wears?

Charles Binder

Charles Binder's ridiculous hat